


Flesh, Blood, and Poison

by deadseasburntoutstars (antigender)



Category: DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Case Fic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Rating May Change, There Are a Lot of Original Characters, Tim Drake-centric, Trans Tim Drake, alternate universe - tim doesn't become robin, one sided enemies though, tags are under construction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29337342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antigender/pseuds/deadseasburntoutstars
Summary: When the students in Tim's photography class begin disappearing, Tim suspects that something fouler than simple ennui is at play. Can Tim figure it out before he himself falls victim?
Relationships: Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

Gross, wet sounds and grunts of pain emanated from the dark alleyway below. Tim Drake clutched the bulky camera strapped around his neck from the safety of the rooftop, fingers worrying at the sharp edges until the tips of them felt raw. Raw. That was a good word to describe the Batman at the present. His angular, strong face was twisted in fury and barely concealed grief behind the cowl as he stuck repeatedly at the pathetic supine form of what had, moments before, been an attempted mugger. Now… Tim winced at the wet, rattling breath that hissed reluctantly from the man’s lips in between pleas for mercy and bitten off curses. Now, it was hard to say who the victim was supposed to be, the original woman long since fled. Most people fled at the sight of the Batman these days, their steps light and movements furtive, regardless of whether or not they had done anything.

Everyone was beginning to notice. The streets were starting to talk. Robin, disappeared. The Joker, gone to ground. No one had heard from him in conspicuous weeks, and word was that he wasn’t in Arkham, either. To just… Leave, was unheard of for a man as desperate for attention as the Joker. And Batman…

The mugger moaned piteously. Batman stared down at him as if from a deep trance, bloody fists shaking at his sides.

Conclusions were easy to draw, and no one liked them. Tim, who knew more, liked them even less. Batman--  _ Bruce _ \-- Was losing sight. Losing control. With Robin-- _ Jason _ \-- gone, a part of Bruce had gone too. 

Something had to give. Something had to change.

“Are you done? Or do you think you should tenderize this poor schmuck some more?” A voice rang out from the mouth of the alleyway, confident and strong. Tim flinched, the camera yanking on the strap as it fell from his suddenly fumbling hands. He twisted to see who had spoken. It was a girl, wearing a shitty mask and beat up converse, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her ratty jacket. She cocked her head.

“Though, I don’t know how much more you can do, really. I mean, the guy’s practically paste at this p--point.” The girl said, voice breaking despite herself as Batman loomed over her.

“Where are your parents.” Batman demanded. The girl shook her head harshly, blonde ponytail bouncing buoyantly with the movement.

“That’s not important. What’s important is that you-- Listen to me!” She scrambled after his retreating form. “ _ Listen _ ! While you’re wasting your time terrorizing the riff-raff, people are getting hurt! You’re getting sloppy, you  _ know _ you are, and people are going to take advantage!”

“Go home,” Batman growled. The girl stomped her foot angrily.

“Pay attention! I have information on some of these people. Like-- Hey!” Batman stared at the girl incredulously. She stared back defiantly, the edge of his cape clutched tightly in one chipped, purple nail polished hand. Tim wheezed quietly, clapping a hand over his mouth.

“If you had been paying  _ attention _ , you would know that Cluemaster is planning on robbing the First Bank. He has guns, and men, and he’s planning on taking hostages.  _ There _ . That’s  _ all _ , okay?” She dropped the cape, somehow both indignant and sheepish. Batman continued staring at her, the white lenses of the cowl luminescing oddly under the orange sputtering streetlamps.

“There’s been no word of this on the street.” The girl planted her hands on her hips, scowling up at him.

“Yeah, well, when's the last time you really listened, masked man? Consider me the street. I’m telling you, that’s what he’s doing. So what are you gonna do about it?” Batman was silent for a moment.

“Go home,” He said finally, this time without the undercurrent of violence. He sounded tired. He turned, pointed his grapple gun, and, in a swish of his cape, was gone.

“Fuck,” The girl sighed. Tim rolled onto his back, blowing out a breath as the built up tension bled out of him. He could still hear the mugger, gasping below. Soon enough, the police would probably show up. Or an ambulance, hopefully. Before then, he should probably take Batman’s advice, and go home.

A month later, the word on the street was that there was a new Robin. A girl. When his parents were away, Tim snuck out at night to snap pictures, enthralled by the vibrancy that she practically radiated. The confidence, the surety. It wasn’t the same as the first Robin, or the second. But it was  _ Robin _ , plain and simple. 

A year later, when his parents were away, Mrs. Mac answered the phone, her cheerful face draining of blood as she covered her mouth with one trembling hand, eyes filling with horrified tears.

\---

  
  


“I know this isn’t easy,” Elaine Thomas said to the drawn, slight teenager perched uncomfortably in the overstuffed chair across from her desk. He was only thirteen. He looked younger. Her chest ached. “But it’s the best choice I can offer you.”

The boy picked at the worn, frayed fabric of his jeans, face hidden behind the fall of his thick, silky black hair. Tim, she reminded herself. He said his name was Tim. The manila folder that contained his life had a sticky note slapped on the front cover with the name sprawled in pen, underlined twice for emphasis.

“The best choice is to stay here,” He spoke clearly, but wouldn’t meet her eyes. Elaine sighed.

“Stay where, Tim? Every foster home in Gotham is filled to capacity.  _ Beyond _ capacity. Gabrielle and Edith are good people. They’ll give you a good home, much better than anything you would get here.”

“Gotham is my home. This is where my life is. My school, my friends, my-- My family.” Tim bit his lip, fighting against a sudden swell of emotion, before calming back down to an unnatural, placid calm. “I want to be here. For... If my father wakes up.”

“I understand. I do. But even if he does wake up, there’s no telling when that’ll be. In the meantime, I don’t want you to be forced into a group home. Don’t you think that he would want you to be well taken care of?”

Tim didn’t answer, and didn’t look at her. Elaine rubbed the heel of her palm into the burgeoning headache forming just behind her eyes, flicking an errant braid away from her face where it had fallen out of her loose bun.

“I have a son your age, you know. A little older. And from this side of it, if I couldn’t take care of him anymore, I’d hope that somebody else would. I wouldn’t want him to be stuck just because I was.” Tim met her eyes, finally, a piercing, icy blue that shone with tamped down emotion.

“Good for your son,” He bit out, “But you’re not my mother. She’s dead. Plane crash. That should be in there.” He jerked his chin at the folder. “And we can’t exactly get my dad’s opinion on this, can we? That’s the whole problem.”

Elaine resisted the urge to sigh again. At the door, a solid, cheerful knock sounded to the rhythm of shave and a haircut. Gabrielle.

“Just remember, Tim,” Elaine hauled herself out from behind her desk, joints complaining loudly, ”Gotham will only be a bus ride away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i wish stephanie had a better run as robin... um i thought it would be kinda cute if duke's mother was tim's case worker just cuz i can ^_^ also how far away metropolis is from gotham changes every time i blink so for my own purposes its gonna be like an hour away lol. find me on tumblr @starfiring


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> timeskip

_ Five Years Later  _

Metropolis University was, like the city itself, magnificent to behold. The campus, a sprawling, eclectic jumble of buildings, seemed to be built with an eye towards the future, all clean, sharp lines of steel and glass. It wasn’t uncommon to see people set up in the quad with sketchbooks propped up in their laps, jaws slightly agape as they attempted to reproduce the sight before them. 

Tim’s _Art of Photography_ class laid in the arts building on the left. Professor Lambert was a notorious hard ass with an unforgiving mindset, but if you did well in his class, his letters of recommendation could smooth your path to employment to anywhere you wanted to go in the field of photography. Namely, most relevant to Tim, he had connections to every newspaper in Metropolis, and more besides. He didn’t just get you a foot in the door, he got you a seat at the table. _If_ he liked you.

Most of the seats were already claimed by the time he got there, maybe five minutes before class was supposed to start. After a quick deliberation, Tim decided on a desk near the door, shoving his skateboard under his seat, pulling his laptop out of his bag to set up. The laptop was covered in peeling stickers from various sources, the Robin symbol placed proud and true over the computer logo. It was the first one he had gotten, and it showed, so faded that the one vibrant yellow was barely even a pale cream. A gift from Ed, when they were still just getting to know each other. 

Up in front, Professor Lambert cleared his throat loudly, motioning for quiet.

“Good evening, class-- _Please_ , let’s make an effort to come to class _on time_ so that there are no interruptions.” Professor Lambert scowled at the man slinking through the isles from behind the thick glasses perched precariously on the end of his thin, upturned nose. The man’s head ducked in embarrassment, his tan face flushed. Tim leaned away as he practically collapsed into a desk near him. 

“Thank you. _As I was saying_ , welcome to _the Art of Photography_. My name is John Lambert, as you undoubtedly knew, and I have been teaching photography for fifteen years, the last six of which have been here at Metropolis University. In this class, I expect you to come prepared to work. I have a no tolerance policy regarding late work, and I don’t do extra credit-- Every single class will be essential. Not everyone is cut out for this class. Most of you will probably drop it before the end of the week. But to those who remain, to those with the passion required to make it in the field of photography, there is no better place for you than here.”

Tim could feel his attention waning, eyes drifting over subconsciously to the man sitting near him before he jerked them back onto the professor. The man was distractingly handsome, a fine boned, angular face that was unmistakably masculine in a way that Tim both admired and envied, with sleek, fine curls that fell into his warm brown eyes. He was probably straight. He dressed in the sort of uncanny valley between alternative straight boy and masculine gay guy, a simple flannel and jeans topped with a unexpectedly loud spiked leather jacket. Not that Tim was looking. Not that it mattered, because even if he was into guys, Tim was paying attention to class, not hitting on random Adonis-like men that happened to meander into his range of view. Tim directed his eyes forward again. 

In front of him, a group of girls sat cloistered together whispering to themselves. Tim tried to ignore them, but some of their conversation leaked through.

“It’s the craziest thing,” one of the girls said, wearing a sparkly sequined hat. “My cousin--From Gotham, obviously-- Said that Batman, like, totally saved her life!”

“Charlie?” Another one asks. Tim could’ve sworn he’d had her in another class. Her name was Melly, or Mia, or something like that. “What happened?” The first girl leaned in further, voice dropping into a conspiratorial stage-whisper that Tim struggled to hear.

“So, She was walking home from work, which, if I lived in Gotham, I would never ever walk anywhere. So dangerous. Anyways, she was walking home, and all of a sudden, she started getting really dizzy. And, obviously, she’s panicking, because she didn’t bring her gasmask to work, which, insane that they have to do that.”

“Insane,” A girl agrees, a brunette layered in multiple sweaters and cardigans that Tim couldn't help but feel semi-stifled by through proxy alone.

“But she’s thinking, oh my God, did the Joker break out, or something? You know the Joker, right? The weirdo clown guy or whatever? He gasses people a lot. Well, so does the Scarecrow. And-- Well, gas in Gotham is, like, a huge thing. It’s a problem. Everyone in Gotham has a carbon footprint, like, a mile wide on average just from all the poisonous gas. Again, insane.”

“I would never live there,” Melly-or-Mia-or-something-like-that said. Tim rolled his eyes. Metropolitans, so snobbish. Too good to carry gas masks around at all times. Really, what was the world coming to?

“So she’s leaning against a wall, about to pass out, thinking she’s gonna die or something, and Batman shows up! And Robin. The new one, the boy? With the sword? Though, honestly, there’s a new Robin, like, every week. But that’s not important. Batman checks her over, and is like, hey, I think you just have low blood sugar, so no poison or anything. Well, he didn’t say it like that. And so he gives her a twenty! She didn’t even spend it, because, _uhm_ , _Batman._ Just gave her a freakin’ twenty. But it was so weird, right? Ugh, I wish I could see Batman on the reg. I _knooow_ he’s totally jacked under all that armour.” Sequined-hat smiles dreamily.

“I don’t know,” Melly-or-Mia-or-something-like-that scrunched her face up. “He could be old and crusty or something under that mask. Yuck. Also, I don’t really trust guys that go around punching random people, vigilante or no. Seems like he deffos has issues.” Sequined hat flapped her hand at her.

“Nothing wrong with a D.I.L.F., girl... And like you don’t have the world's biggest crush on Superman!” Melly-or-Mia-or-something-like-that flushed.

“Okay, first of all, Superman has the tightest, pertest ass I have ever seen. Seriously, like two perfect half circles. Could bounce a dime off that thing. Yum. Have you ever seen Batman’s ass? No. I bet it's flatter than two week old sprite. Second, when an evil space android tries to do the whole _dissolve the city_ gimmick again, who do you want trying to stop it? Batman or Superman?”

“I feel like Batman could figure it out,” Sequined hat insisted. Tim would really have to learn her name. Melly-or-Mia-or-something-like-that scoffed quietly.

“No way, dude. Ashley, back me up. Superman all the way, right?” Sweater girl--Ashley-- looked up.

“Uh, Wonder Woman til I die.” she shrugged. “Have you seen her? Mama wants a slice.”

“Ugh. Where’s your Metropolitan pride?” Melly-or-Mia-or-something-like-that --really, _what_ was her damn name-- twisted around. “Superman or Batman?” She asked the man. He looked up, startled.

“I’m really more of a Superboy fan, personally.” He smiled blindingly. Tim resisted the urge to shade his eyes.

Melly-or-Mia-or-something-like-that squinted. “Superboy? Really? I mean, he’s alright, I guess. Not better than Superman.”

“Not better than _Batman_ ,” Sequined hat sniped. 

“Woah, woah, woah. Remember that giant, fire-breathing whale from space that attacked the city last week? Who handled that? Plus, he’s hot.” The man shrugged.

“I’m not saying he’s not hot. But better than Batman?” Sequined hat sucked her teeth doubtfully.

“At least Superboy can actually do things. Half the stuff that goes down in Metropolis, Batman would be useless against. Like, what’s he going to do? Glare? Lurk? Maybe that works for Gotham, but the baddies in Metropolis are made of sterner stuff.” Tim bit back a sigh. So the hot guy was kind of a douche. Whatever. He was paying way too much attention to a conversation he wasn’t even a part of. He tuned back into the lecture.

“Why are you here?” Professor Lambert was saying. “What do you hope to gain from this class? Just a credit, or something more? I can tell you now, you need _more_ to succeed, not just in this class, but in photography itself. What about photography drives you? Inspires you? Think about it. Write about it. This will be your first assignment, due next Friday before class. Minimum five hundred words, MLA format, double spaced.” Tim typed it down frantically, thinking.

Why was he here? What was it about photography that drew him in so intensely? When he was younger, he took pictures of Batman and Robin. Robin, especially. He used to imagine what that would be like. To be free like he was, the first Robin, boyhood personified. Something he once thought he could never have but ached for anyways, without even knowing why. The freedom that he had, the boundless, seemingly inexhaustible joy. Tim used to feel guilty, as if he had stolen something. In a sense, he had. Little moments. Breaths of air. Escape, from being his parents daughter. A person he never wanted to be. And now, Tim’s parents were gone, and he would never be anyone’s anything. 

But he couldn’t write that. Obviously.

After class, Tim shouldered his bag, chewing on the edge of his pen absently. He was halfway out the door when the man grabbed him by the arm. He jerked around to face him, startled.

“Sorry! You forgot your board.” The man held it out towards Tim.

“Oh. Thank you,” Tim mumbled awkwardly, taking it. The man followed him.

“Love the decal, by the way. Where’d you get it done? Or--Did you do it yourself? It looks sick, man. I’m Connor!” Conner introduced himself. Tim repressed a scowl. It suited him.

“Tim. A friend of mine did it, actually. But she’s not open for commissions right now, if that’s what you’re after. I’ve got to get to my next class now.” Tim stepped around Connor.

“Wait!” Tim turned to look at him expectantly. “Where, uh, where do you stand? On the great Batman-Superman-Superboy debate.” Connor twisted one of the longer curls on top around one elegant finger.

“Batman.” Tim stated firmly, and moved to leave.

“Not Superboy?” Conner gave him puppy eyes. “C’mon. I need someone on my side.” Tim shoved his hands into the pocket of his jeans, kicking the ground with one of his clunky Vans.

“Superboy is more of a blunt force weapon. Sure, if a giant fire breathing whale from space attacks the city again, Superboy can do his thing. But what about missing kids? Or unsolved murders? You can’t just punch your way out of those. Everyone pays attention to the big stuff. The Killer Croc’s, the bomb threats, the gas. But it goes way deeper than that. It’s the justice system, it’s the food deserts, it’s the income deficits. That’s as much a part of the problem as any two-bit rouge. What could Superboy do about all that? Also, isn’t he a grown man by now? It’s weird that he’s still called Super _boy_.” Tim smiled sharply at Conner, who looked taken aback. “So. Batman.”

“You from Gotham, or something?” Tim narrowed his eyes.

“How’d you guess?”

\---

The apartment door stuck again when he unlocked it. Tim sighed in aggravation, pressing his shoulder in and shoving until it gave, stumbling clumsily into the living room.

“Honey!” He yelled. “I’m home!”

Stephanie, his roommate, raised her bag of chips up in greeting from the couch, eyes glued to the boxy television. “Oh, finally,” She simpered in a high pitched falsetto. “I’ve been withering away without you! Dinner’s on the stove-- steak and potatoes, your favorite.”

“All for _me_?” Tim spooned himself a bowl of the cheap ramen on the stove. “Really, darling, you shouldn’t have.”

He settled on the couch next to her, scarfing down the lukewarm noodles. Mmm, sodium. Stephanie watched in amazed disgust.

“Slow down, tiger! It’s not gonna run away if you stop to breathe.” Tim groaned.

“Ugh, I will, though. I’ve got work in like fifteen minutes.” He stuffed one last heaping forkful into his mouth, barely pausing to chew.

“You, my man, are going to give yourself indigestion.” Tim waved at her, gulping down the broth. “How was class? You had that, uh, photography one today, right? With that one demon Prof.?” She watched him scramble around the room, pulling his Vans off and sliding on his work shoes.

“It was-- Have you seen my other bag? I swear I put it over here-- It was whatever, I guess, the first day’s always pretty slow. This one guy was talking shit about Batman, though.” He rummaged around.

“Why can’t you just use that bag?” She nodded to the bag on the hook by the front door. Tim threw his hands up.

“My other bag has my good apron--And my taser.”

“Can’t forget that.”

“Fuck it,” He decided, “ I’ll go without.” 

“You step outside that comfort zone, Tim. My therapist would cry tears of joy. What’d the guy say?” Steph always liked hearing people talk shit about Batman, but she was from Gotham. It was different.

“Some bullshit, mainly. He said Superboy was better than Batman. Superboy! His name was Conner.” Steph jolted upright, spraying crumbs.

“Conner? Conner Kent?!” She demanded. Tim shrugged.

“Maybe? Tall guy, buff, has an undercut?” Steph nodded.

“Yup, that’s Conner Kent.”

“You know him?”

“ _Yeah_ , I know him.” She said, like it was obvious.

“Really?” Tim made a face at her. ”He seems so… Metropolitan. Where’d you meet him?”

“I don’t know him, know him, I’ve just seen him around campus.” She questured around with the now empty bag of chips.

“Good, he’s kind of a dick. I’ve gotta blast, I’m gonna be late.”

“Smell ya later, nerd,” She shouted at the closing door. "Remember to pick up some milk!" He stuck his middle finger up at her in reply, jumping on his skateboard as soon as he hit the sidewalk.

Tim made it, barely, with seconds to spare. His manager frowned at him as he pulled his apron on, hurrying out with a tray under his arm.

\---

The diner Tim waited for was dead at this time of morning, the sun just barely hinting at peeking out over the towering skyscrapers, a faint lightness in the inky black sky. Tim glared blearily at it through the large windows, tapping his fingers against the linoleum tabletops. The overnight shift was always terrible, and always available for people with too much time and not enough money. Tim found himself covering it more often than not, especially during the summers. Now that school had started up again, this would probably be the last one for a while, at least. Small miracles, and all that. 

The ticking analog clock above the bar struck five. He stretched, the upholstery of the booth creaking. “Welp, that time of morning again, Amy.”

“That time of morning again, Tim,” Amy replied, slumped opposite from him, rubbing her palm across her eyes. Tim didn’t have the heart to tell her that she’d smeared her bright green eyeshadow all over her cheeks. “Freeee-dom,” She exhaled like cigarette smoke. 

“D’you have the keys?” Amy nodded muzzily, taking her apron off and rummaging in the pocket.

“Yuuup. Marlene gave me a permanent set since I started closing. Lookie, see?” She held up the keys triumphantly. Tim grabbed his skateboard from the back, throwing his apron over one shoulder.

"Joe!" He called. Closing time!" The cook, Joe, poked his bald head out from the kitchen.

"Be right out, then," He replied.

“Will we be seein’ you again soon, Tim?” Amy asked slowly, shivering in the late autumn breeze outside of the diner.

“Probably not,” Tim admitted apologetically. “School’s started up again, so it’ll be strictly day shifts for a while.”

“Oh, school! That’s sweet. You’re in college, right? Not highschool? What’re you majoring in?” Joe asked. They walked together down the street towards the bus stop.

“Dual majoring, actually. Journalism and photography.”

“Huh. Neat.” Amy said thoughtfully.

“I think so, too. See you around, Amy, Joe.” Amy patted his shoulder fondly, setting her bag down on the bench.

“See ya, Timmy,” She replied.

"Bye for now," Joe said, huddling further into his coat on the other side of the bench.

Tim continued on down the street until they were out of sight, exhaling hard into the breeze. It had been a long, slow night, on top of a million identical long, slow nights that had come before it, and all Tim wanted to do was to collapse into his mattress for a few hours until the sun shone too strong to ignore. He walked doggedly, skateboard under one arm. If he tried to ride it, he would probably just end up eating pavement.

Amy and Joe were far behind him now, a few streets back. He walked a little quicker, clutching the shoulder strap of his bag. The streetlamps buzzed away overhead. In Metropolis, the streetlamps beamed white and strong, throwing up deep, dark shadows that Tim didn’t pause to peer into. He glanced over his shoulder, jumping in fright when he saw a figure behind him. He couldn’t make them out well. He walked quicker. It was probably nothing. Tim was just being paranoid. If someone wanted to take a stroll at five in the morning, who was he to stop them? He glanced over his shoulder again. The gap between them had shrunk. Biting his lip, Tim dug a hand into his bag, wincing when he remembered that he hadn’t brought his taser. Just his luck.

A hand landed on his shoulder, yanking him backwards.

“Don’t--” Tim started to say, gagging as the person snaked a thick arm around his neck in a chokehold, pressing down against his carotid artery. He dropped the skateboard. It rolled away into the darkness.

Almost instantly, he felt dizzy, gasping ineffectually as the person behind him blocked the flow of blood to his brain. Tim ducked his chin, clawing at the thick, armored fabric covering his attacker's arms, straining against them. Whoever they were, they were strong. Tim was no bodybuilder, but he still wasn’t weak. He stomped down on their feet, mouthing curses when he heard the solid _clang!_ of steel toed boots. He didn’t even have enough air to scream, not that anyone would be able to hear him, stars bursting into blackness as his hands dropped limply.

“Please,” He whispered weakly, little more than a wheeze, eyes drooping shut.

And wrenched back open, coughing hard, as the weight on his back jerked away from him. Tim fell to his hands and knees on the pavement, sucking in breath after breath, leaning his forehead against his shaky, pallid arm. He stared behind him in bewilderment. There was no one there. The sidewalk was empty, the street deserted. What--

Superboy blurred into view, hovering a few feet in front of him. “There,” he said in satisfaction, placing a red leather gloved hand on his spandex clad hip, inbetwixt a bizarre multitude of seemingly random belts. “I dropped ‘em off at the station.”

“Superboy?” Tim choked out between gags, wiping at the tears streaming from his eyes. 

“In the flesh,” He replied proudly. His eyes were a bright, unnatural blue behind the sunglasses that he apparently wore at night, so bright that Tim could’ve sworn they were glowing, but it might've been the tears. He rubbed at them, chest heaving and head spinning.

“Oh, man." Superboy rubbed his shoulder awkwardly. "Ya’d think you’d be used to all this, being from _Gotham_ and all.” Tim stared up at him.

“How do you know I’m from Gotham?”

“You’ve got an accent, buddy,” Superboy grinned down at him easily. Tim shook his head.

“No, I don’t.” Superboy crossed his arms over his broad chest defensively.

“You sure do argue a lot for someone who is getting the life choked out of them ten seconds ago,” Superboy clucked. Tim smiled crookedly.

“Well, accent or no accent. I _am_ from Gotham.”

“Hey, there’s the spirit. Listen, you gonna be alright? I’ve kinda got places to be, sooo…” Superboy trailed off sheepishly. Tim hauled himself up, dusting his knees off.

“I’ll be fine. Go.” He shouldered his bag again.

“Alright, okay. But--Oh! Don’t forget your skateboard.” Superboy handed him the board. Tim giggled, semi-hysterical, clutching the familiar ocean wave and sunlight patterned deck to his chest like a schoolgirl would her books.

“Would you believe that’s the second time today I’ve almost lost this thing?” Superboy blinked down at him, already mid-flight.

“You should really put a tracker on that thing. Like a find-my-I-Phone type of dealio.” He sped off. Tim closed his eyes against the displaced blast of wind.

\---

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Tim dragged his bangs away from his face. On the third ring, the call connected.

“Tim?” Ed asked, her voice hoarse from sleep. “It’s five in the morning.”

Tim closed his eyes tightly, pressing the phone harder against his ear, wrapping one arm around his middle. “I know, Ed. I know. But I needed to call you. I think someone just tried to mug me.”

He heard rustling. He leaned back against the couch, illuminated in the darkness by the light of the muted early morning cartoons on the television. 

“What?!” Ed demanded, sounding more awake. “What do you mean? Mugged? _Tried_?! Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, now. Superboy, um. Saved me.” He could hear low muttering on the other end, and then a click.

“Oh, honey,” Gabby said, grainy through the speakerphone. “That’s awful! Good that he saved you, of course. Is there anything we can do right now?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just really wanted to hear your voices.”

“Okay, lets talk, then. Other than getting mugged, anything interesting happen today?” Ed asked pragmatically. Tim laughed.

“Other than the mugging, you say? I had my first class with that one guy I was telling you about, remember? The photographer?”

“Oh, mh-hmm, Mr. Bigshot. Right, I remember. How’d it go?”

They talked well into the morning, until the sun had risen properly, and Tim finally felt like he could sleep.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pro tip: hit on guys by asking them if they think your alter-ego is hot. cry a little bit when they say no. where do you stand on the great batman-superman-superboy debate? i'm gonna have to throw my hat in the superman ring. i will say that batman's ass is really good in this au if that changes anything for you. it wasn't relevant to tim's story so i didn't include it, but batman and superman have identical asses. amazing. brainiac actually did try and dissolve metropolis using a mirrored version that turned the real version to dust in superman #271, but the giant, fire-breathing whale from space is made up for the purpose of i think its funny. find me on tumblr @starfiring


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a series of misunderstandings and bantering, sometimes bleeding

There was a vast emptiness deep within Tim, a slavering, unquenchable beast that lusted for one thing, and one thing only. 

The sweet, delicious taste of Froot Loops. 

Tim’s eyes snapped open, his stomach growling like a feral dog, screwing his face up against the glare of the noon sun. He tumbled out of bed, banging his elbow against his dresser on the way to the kitchen.

“Ow, ow, ow,” he muttered, squinting into the open refrigerator. He pulled the milk out, screwing the cap open to take a sniff. Sour. Right, he was supposed to pick up milk last night. Tim felt like falling to his knees in despair, shaking his fist at the sky. It couldn’t be helped. He would have to go…  _ Grocery shopping _ .

On a Saturday.

What cruel world was this?

Tim closed the fridge grumpily. Maybe he could just go back to bed. This day was clearly a wash. He could just lay there until he died of starvation. His stomach growled again. He closed his eyes in resignation. Why must humanity be a slave to it’s baser instincts?

Scrubbing a hand through his bangs, he paused in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Stephanie stood in the living room, back ramrod straight and arms crossed imposingly over her chest. Conner Kent leaned against the front door, handsome face pulled into a deep scowl. Tim scrambled back into the relative safety of the kitchen.

What could they be talking about? Steph had said that she didn’t know him that well, but here he was. Were they talking about him? Tim edged closer to the living room.

“We need you,” Conner insisted. Steph snorted.

“No, you don’t. You have the new kid, remember?”

“He’s not you! You’re supposed to be our leader.” Steph raised her eyebrows mockingly.

“Oh, so  _ now _ you admit it? Too little, too late, dude. I’m out. For good.”

“So that’s it, then? You’re just gonna quit, just like that?”

“Yeah. Just like that.”

Tim backed away from the doorway, leaning back against the counter and letting out a breath. He didn’t know what they were talking about, but whatever it was, it sounded personal. Really personal. And it didn’t involve Tim. He resolved to put it out of his mind. 

Quietly, Tim slank back to his room, leaving Stephanie and Conner to their conversation. He wasn’t that hungry, after all.

“How can you say that?! You  _ save people _ , Steph. Why would you give that up?” Steph shook her head.

“You don’t get it.  _ None _ of you ever got it.”

“Do you think it’s easy for any of us? Do you really think you’re the only one that's struggled? But we all have a responsibility, Steph, whether we like it or not!”

“Don’t lecture me! You have no idea what it was like for me.” She spat. “You never got hurt like I did. You have no fucking clue what it felt like, putting myself out there every night, getting the snot beat out of me, and getting up in the morning knowing I was going to do it all over again the next day. “

“You’re the one that’s turning your back on the rest of us!” Steph flushed angrily, mouth opening in the beginning of a yell, before squeezing her eyes shut, rubbing at the strong bridge of her nose in frustration.

“I get it, Conner, I do. You’ve never known anything else. Your entire life has been like this. But not me. I was someone outside of all this once, and I gave that up. For years. Where does it end? When do I get to be Stephanie Brown? When have I given  _ enough _ ?” She implored. Conner looked away.

“I just want to be  _ normal _ .” Stephanie said quietly. Conner jerked his head back up, sneer spreading across his face.

“You’re  _ not _ normal, though. You never have been, and you never will be. What you’re doing now? Is just playing pretend. And it has a cost.”

“Everything we do has a cost. And you know what, Conner? I’m done paying. This conversation is over. Leave.” Steph bit out, fists clenched at her sides. Conner threw his hands up.

“Fine.  _ Fine _ . But… Think about it. Please.” He beseeched. “I don’t know if we can do this without you.”

“I have thought about it.  _ Leave _ .” Her face brooked no argument.

The door closed gently behind Conner. Stephanie kicked it, and then wrapped her arms around herself in a mock hug, standing solitary in the living room with a closed, far away look on her face.

\---

By that Wednesday, the class had shrunk from twenty five students to a meager fourteen.The talk on everyone's lips seemed to be about the party that one of the frats were throwing that night, the second after the inaugural rager they’d had earlier that month. Tim steered clear of most mentions of the frats, but even he couldn’t attain total ignorance, regardless of how hard he tried. In his opinion, his life was already stressful enough without adding alcohol to the mix.

Professor Lambert stood in front of the whiteboard, waiting until the quiet buzz of hushed voices quelled.

“Before you turn in your essays on Monday, I’d like each of you to find another classmate to pair up with for peer reviews.” The marker squeaked against the whiteboard. Tim curbed a groan, leaning back in his seat. A group project. Joy.

“This review will give you all a chance to revise any mistakes you weren’t able to catch yourself,” The professor continued. “They will be due at the beginning of our next class, on Friday. This assignment will be graded, so it is in your best interest to put  _ real _ effort into your feedback. You have ten minutes to find a partner and exchange contact information.” He set the marker down with finality, turning back to face the class, one thin grey eyebrow arched.

“Well, go on, then,” he ushered expectantly. Tim looked around hopelessly. He hadn’t really gotten the chance to know any of his classmates yet. He bit his lip. Maybe Melly-or-Mia-or-something-like-that? But she had already turned to face Sequined hat, who was no longer wearing a sequined hat. Damn. He sucked in a contemplative breath through his teeth, looking around, but most of the class had already paired up, phones out and heads bent together. Tim felt a tap on his shoulder. He jumped, whirling around.

“You’re really easy to startle, you know that?” Conner cocked his head. Tim flushed.

“Maybe you just make a habit out of startling people,” Tim retorted. Conner grinned.

“Oh yeah, that’s me. Skulking around dark corners, waiting in the shadows to jump out at unsuspecting innocents.” He made a grim face, angling his head to stare moodily out the window. “It’s all a part of my charm.” Tim’s eye twitched with the effort of holding back a laugh.

“Does that work for you?”

“Well, I was hoping it’d get me your phone number. For the, y’know. Peer review?”

“Right. The peer review.” Tim jotted it down on a spare scrap of paper. Their fingertips brushed when Conner took it. He had nice hands, Tim thought, not for the first time. Long, elegant fingers, but still strong looking.

“Do you play any instruments?” Tim blurted out, and then blushed, high and bright on his cheekbones. Conner blinked at him.

“I can play chopsticks on a piano?” He offered. “That’s pretty much it.” Tim waved a hand in dismissal, shaking his head.

“Sorry, ignore me. I’ll send you my paper later tonight.” 

“Sounds good,” Conner agreed.

\--

“This is not good,” Conner muttered to himself. He might even leap to say that this, what was happening right now? Was in fact, very bad.

The robot monkey perched on his chest gawped down at him with glowing green eyes. It looked rough, patchworked together of different sheets of metal in various states of disrepair and rust, the welding clumsy and thick. D.I.Y.-ed kryptonite powered robot monkeys. Finally, Conner could cross that one off his bucket list. Hopefully, the next thing would be a tetanus shot.

Around him, more robot monkeys swarmed the lobby of the bank, a cacophony of metallic shrieks and clanks piercing Conner’s eardrums painfully as they tore through the registers behind the glass partition. The tellers huddled on the floor with the patrons, guarded by-- and this might be shocking-- even more robot monkeys. 

Conner held back a gag. Kryptonite was the worst. It was an itch building in his eyes and lungs that rose and rose despite how hard he scratched, until it stopped itching and began to feel like someone running millions of tiny scalpels across every inch of him. Waves of nausea sapped his strength until lifting just a finger was a battle. Even his TTK got weaker, barely capable of nudging a feather. The longer he laid there, prone, the more helpless he became. 

It was ridiculous. Embarrassing. The monkeys looked like bad props in a third grade play funded by wishes and dreams, but he could only watch from teary eyes as they wrecked havoc right in front of him. Worse, right in front of the hostages. Conner’s reputation would be so below sea level after this, it would practically reside in the Mariana Trench until he was fifty.

Conner grit his teeth, glaring at the boy in front of him. He looked young, around twelve or so, wearing huge, voluminous clothes that seemed to swallow his skinny frame. In his hands he held a convoluted remote control. It looked as homemade as the monkeys, composed of several video game controllers, wires sticking out of it haphazardly. He’d give the kid points for resourcefulness, but, well…

Gathering his strength, he threw the monkey on his chest as hard as he could, relishing the screech of twisted metal as it smashed into the marble wall and fell to the floor, smoking. The boy glanced at Conner distractedly, fiddling with the remote. Ten more monkeys pounced on him, holding him down. Conner whimpered, feeling sick. Where did the kid even get this much kryptonite? 

“Stay down, Superboy,” The boy commanded. “This will be over soon. No one has to get hurt.” Conner grimaced. No one really understood how bad kryptonite felt. Even a miniscule amount was enough to have him feeling off for weeks, and it was never just a miniscule amount.

Okay, fine. He gave up! He was throwing in the towel! He was the biggest loser, that was him. Scowling at the ceiling, face red with embarrassment and effort, he inhaled, wincing as the itch got worse.

“Superman,” He coughed out, quietly, so that the boy didn’t notice. “Kryptonite. Help.”

After a few, humiliating seconds where Conner was sure he wouldn’t answer, Superman appeared. His eyes glowed red with heat as he lasered the monkey’s heads off, so quickly that it seemed, to the humans, that it had happened all at the same time. He hovered high above the ground, face crinkled in faint discomfort as he stared disapprovingly at the kid.

“P-Please don’t hurt me!” The kid whimpered, dropping the remote and putting his hands up. Conner clambered up onto his elbows.

“Took you long enough, didn’t it?” Clark frowned at him.

“You should have called me sooner. Why didn’t you use your telekinesis?This mess could have been avoided. ” Conner’s face flamed, deeply aware of the witnesses.

“ _ Tactile _ telekinesis. Can we not have this conversation here?” He tried, desperately, pushing himself to his knees. “What’s gonna happen to the kid?”

“M-my name is, um, is, James.” The kid, James, stuttered out. 

“Alright, James.” Clark’s voice was gentle. “Where are your parents?”

“It’s just my mom. She’s in the hospital, and if I don’t get this money, she’s gonna die. You’re supposed to help people, aren't you? I wasn’t even hurting anyone! You can take me to jail if you just let me have the money. I won’t even struggle, I promise!” James pleaded. Conner sighed. Of course the annoying child genius had a tragic backstory. Didn’t they all? For once, he would appreciate it if a snot nosed kid with criminal tendencies was in it just for kicks, instead. Clark’s face drooped in sympathy. 

“I’m not gonna take you to jail,” He began. Conner shot up in the air in indignation, before collapsing back onto his ass. Ow, ow, ow. Now his body was as bruised as his pride. Fucking kryptonite.

“You’re not?!” He demanded. Clark shot him a quelling look.

“No. But I’m not letting you keep the money, either.” He continued firmly.

“But my mom--!” James yelled.

“--Will be taken care of.” Clark interrupted. “I know people who can make sure of it.”

“Why would you help me?” James eyed Clark dubiously. “I robbed a bank.  _ Am _ robbing a bank.”

“Because you’re not a bad kid--”

“ _ Debatable _ ,” Conner said, too low for James to hear.

“--Just a kid in a bad situation. And people in bad situations deserve to be helped.” James bit his lip, looking around at the destruction his monkeys had caused.

“The bank… Won’t they be mad at me?” Clark shook his head, smiling.

“My friends can take care of it.  _ If _ you come with me.” Clark flew down until he could offer James a hand. James stared at it, hesitating for a moment before allowing himself to be pulled into Clark’s reassuring arms. In a red flash of Clark’s cape, they sped off. He reappeared moments later, arms empty.

“Batman has him,” He explained, peeling Conner off the floor, throwing one of his arms around his wide shoulders as they flew away from the bank.

“Batman?” He said above the roar of wind, head spinning. “Why do we need Batman? We could’ve handled this on our own.” They landed on the roof of Conner’s dorm, hidden from view.

“Not well. What would you or I’ve done? Thrown him in jail? He’s just a boy, Conner,” Clark scolded. Conner grimaced, eerily reminded of his conversation with Tim the week before.

“He’s a menace, is what he is,” Conner muttered, but dropped it.

“Have you spoken to Ma, recently?” Clark inquired, a tad accusatory. “She said that she misses having you around.”

“Yeah, I’ve talked to Ma, Clark. I go down every weekend to visit.” Conner defended himself, trying to stand. He stumbled almost immediately, falling back against Clark. “Which you would know, if you bothered to talk to me once in a while.”

“I’ve been busy.” Clark set him down on an A.C. unit, unslinging his arm. Conner let it happen, feeling a vague sense of irony. There goes Clark, letting him down again.

“You’re always busy.”

“You should take it easy,” Clark changed the subject. “You were exposed to a lot of kryptonite. You’ll be feeling the aftereffects for the next week or so.”

“I  _ know _ .”

“Okay.” Clark hesitated awkwardly. “Call me. If you need help, I mean. Or...For anything else. If you want. I’ll come.” With that, he sped off. Conner didn’t turn to watch him leave. Eventually, he would have to change out of his suit, go down to his dorm, collapse in his bed, and sleep for the next eight months. For now, he stared out at the setting sun, ignoring the black spots in his vision, and brooded.

\---

_ THURSDAY, 9:58 A.M.: _

**hey, sorry to bother you but i didnt get your paper last night? if you sent it there might be something wrong with the email could you send it again?**

_ (UNREAD) _

_ THURSDAY, 9:59 A.M.: _

**this is tim btw**

_ (UNREAD) _

_ THURSDAY, 10:00 A.M.: _

**from photography**

_ (UNREAD) _

_ THURSDAY, 12:23 P.M.: _

**???**

_ (UNREAD) _

_ THURSDAY, 12:24 P.M.: _

**this is conner right?**

_ (UNREAD) _

_ THURSDAY, 12:39 P.M.: _

**just in case u forgot this paper is graded, i need ur paper asap**

_ (UNREAD) _

_ THURSDAY, 1:02 P.M.: _

**ik u know he doesnt do late work pls send the paper now**

_ (UNREAD) _

_ THURSDAY, 2:27 P.M.: _

**CONNER**

_ (UNREAD) _

_ THURSDAY, 2:38 P.M.: _

**dude**

_ (UNREAD) _

Groaning, Tim let the phone drop to the couch cushion he was currently stretched out on, regretting his life choices. This is why people talk to other people, he thought sullenly to himself. So they don’t get stuck with non-responsive flakes when they have group projects. There were probably other reasons, too, but Tim couldn’t care to remember them at the moment. Stephanie stuck her head out from the kitchen, scrutinizing him.

“Whoa-ho, guy-pie.Who pissed in your cornflakes on this fine afternoon?”

“Conner Kent,” Tim grit out. Stephanie made a disgruntled face.

“Well, like you said. Guy’s a dick, through and through. What’d he do to you, though?”

“We’re supposed to be partnered for a peer review, and he said he’d send the paper last night, but here we are, on the wrong side of today, and he isn’t responding to my texts. I can’t fill out this stupid feedback sheet without his stupid paper, and it’s graded. For  _ Lambert’s  _ class.” Steph sucked her teeth.

“Just tell him that Conner didn’t send the paper,” She offered. Tim shook his head.

“He never does late work. Ever. I heard that one year, someone's mom died, and he still didn’t let them turn their assignment in after the due date. He’ll probably say that it was my job to pick a better partner.”

“Okay, well, that sucks. But it’s not that big of a grade, right? So you should be fine, overall.”

“It’s not just the grade, Steph. Lambert doesn’t give letters of recommendation to anyone but the best of the best. One bad grade, even a stupid thing like this, and I’m out of the race before it’s even really begun.” Tim pressed his head against the couch, holding back the angry tears that wanted to fall. 

“What a piece of work,” Steph said. “You could always, I don’t know. Stop by Conner’s dorm room, put the fear of god into him?”

“First, I don’t know what dorm he’s in. Second, I don’t think that’s gonna work. He’s like, half a foot taller than me. And  _ way _ more muscular. It’d be like a geriatric chihuahua trying to intimidate a german shepard.”

“Chihuahuas are vicious creatures, Tim. Don’t underestimate them.” Steph wagged a finger. “Also, I know where he lives.”

“I thought you didn’t know him that well,” Tim remarked casually. He didn’t want her to know that he’d overheard their conversation the week before.

“I don’t. But he’s not exactly a hard guy to find. You just look up,” She smirked, as if that was an inside joke.

\---

Of the three halls at Metropolis University, the east-facing Amber Hall was the farthest away from the Arts building. Suddenly, Tim thought, rapping smartly on the cheap wooden door of the dorm room, Conner’s tardiness on that first day of class made sense. The door swung open to reveal a peeved man with a patchy beard and stained boxers, smelling strongly of an unfortunate combination of old sweat and cigarette smoke.

“Whaddya  _ want _ ,” The man groaned at him, slumping against the door frame. Tim could smell the faint, lingering scent of alcohol in his breath. It didn’t at all play nicely.

“I’m looking for Conner Kent?” Tim half-asked, slightly dubious.

“Why?” The man, who Tim assumed to be either Conner’s roommate or a very bold robber, asked suspiciously.

“We had a group project that he didn’t follow through on,” Tim explained. “I was just checking in to make sure he’s alright.”

The man looked back over his shoulder, whistling lowly.

“Good luck with that one, bro-seph. He’s all yours.” With that, the roommate made his way down the hall to the bathrooms, leaving the door open behind him in an apparent invitation. Tentatively, Tim stepped into the room. 

It looked like a miniature tornado had blown through. Though he was no paragon of roomly organization, even Tim found himself unwittingly shocked for a moment. It was almost impressive. Stepping carefully over the large pile of clothes, almost losing his footing on a charging cable lying randomly about, he made his way over to one of the occupied beds.

“Conner,” He said. Under the covers, Conner mumbled, but didn’t wake up. Tim tried again, slightly louder. This time, Conner groaned, sitting back up and glaring grumpily at Tim with puffy, red eyes for a moment before brightening slowly in recognition.

“Tim?” Conner said, voice scratchy and congested. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“You didn’t send your paper last night? Um, Stephanie gave me your address. I tried to text you…” Conner checked his phone.

“Shit. Sorry, Tim.” Tim crossed his arms tightly across his chest.

“Yeah, whatever. Could you send the paper please?” Conner hauled himself painfully out of bed, collapsing into the desk chair. Tim squinted at him.

“Did you go to the party last night?”

“The party?” Conner’s face scrunched up in confusion before clearing suddenly. Huh. “Oh, yeah. Right, yes! Guess I, well, went a little too hard, haha.” 

“So I see.” Tim replied. 

“Sorry, sorry,” He said flippantly, with just a touch of contrition, spinning around in the chair to face Tim again. “College, right? Anyways, I sent you the paper.” Tim’s phone dinged with the notification.

“Thanks,” Tim’s tone was clipped and short. Conner furrowed his eyebrows.

“I, uh, already did your feedback, so don’t worry about that.” He tried. Tim shook his head curtly.

“I wasn’t.” Conner bit his lip.

“I know I was a little late, but it was an honest mistake. Won’t happen again, I swear.”

“No, it won’t. See you in class.” Tim turned on his heel, avoiding the random piles of  _ whatever _ crowding the floor, closing the door on Conner’s gaping face.

\---

After class the next day, Conner caught up to him outside.

“Hey! Tim, man, how’s it hanging?” Tim stubbornly kept walking.

“Wait, wait,  _ wait _ .” Conner jogged over, waving at him. Tim glared upwards, turning slightly to look at Conner. 

“What, did I forget my skateboard? Again?” Conner looked surprised, before ducking his head, smiling slightly.

“Uh, no. Why? Does that happen often?” He tilted his head quizzically. Tim tapped his hand against his thigh impatiently, glancing up and over his shoulder at Conner.

“Is there something you wanted to talk to me about, or…?” Conner brightened.

“Yeah! I just wanted to tell you, I thought your paper was really good. Like,  _ wow _ . I didn’t think you were that deep.” Tim raised an eyebrow.

“So you thought I was shallow?” Conner’s face colored.

“No! No, that’s not what I meant, at all! It’s just, you seem sort of, um… Quiet? And your paper was very,” He sucked in a considering breath, “Not. You’re really, really into photography, aren’t you? Like, for real.” 

Tim sighed, turning to face Conner properly. “Listen,” He began. “Why are you in Professor Lambert’s class?”

“I registered late, and it was the only art class open.” Conner pushed a hand through his thick curls, looking vaguely embarrassed. “Gen-Ed requirement.”

“Hm. Yeah. Thought it was something like that. Perhaps this escaped your notice,  _ Conner _ ,” Tim snapped, “but you’re in the minority. Everybody else is there for one reason: because they care, deeply, about photography. There’s not a  _ single person _ , other than you, that isn’t seriously pursuing photography as a career. This is not just a class. For the rest of us, this is a vital part of our futures. So when you fuck someone over? For a  _ party _ ? It’s a big.  _ Fucking _ . Deal! Capiche?” Tim found himself breathing hard, face hot and muscles tense.

“I’m--I’m sorry,” Conner stuttered out, but Tim shook his head, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

“It’s whatever. Your paper was...  _ okay _ .” Tim remarked in disdain, and kept walking. This time, Conner didn’t follow.

\---

Some awful rom-com played across the television screen. Tim munched angrily at his popcorn from the couch, barely paying attention. It was all the same, anyways, all slap-slap-kiss-even-though-they-really-shouldn’t. Instead, Tim found himself preoccupied with his altercation with Conner earlier. 

The movie paused. Tim looked up from the screen, turning to glance at Steph in puzzlement. She stared back at him confrontationally.

“What? You were  _ not _ paying attention to that. You were too busy eviscerating those poor popcorn kernels.”

“I was watching it!” Tim protested. Steph scoffed.

“Really? What’s the lead guy’s name, then?” Tim paused.

“Dan...iel?” His voice was uncertain, even to his own ears. Steph rolled her eyes.

“ _ David _ .”

“That’s basically the same name, anyways.” Tim said derisively.

“Don’t bullshit me. I wanted to hang out and chill, but you are very much  _ un _ -chill right now. Some might argue that this is your default state, but normally, it’s not  _ this _ bad. You’re totally ruining my vibe! So, spill.”

“I can be chill!”

“Then  _ spill _ , you pwecious wittle popsicle.” She retorted mockingly. Tim leaned back against the couch.

“If you’re sure…” He trailed off.

“I’m sure.” Steph said firmly, flicking her blonde hair out of her eyes.

“It’s about that fucking project.” Tim crossed his arms over his chest. “It just… got to me. How easily one stupid asshole could’ve screwed over my entire life plan. I mean, I could eventually become a photographer without Lambert’s letter, but it would’ve set me back miles. Miles that I really, really can’t afford. You know? I work, I’ve gotten scholarships and grants and whatever, but the majority of this is on Gabby and Ed’s dime. It’s not cheap, and they’re not rich, but they… They did it anyway. For me. Because they care about me. And I need to prove that that was a good decision. That it was worth it. That I…” Tim paused. 

”That I can do this.” He finished lamely. Steph nodded.

“I get that. There are things I want to do, too. Things I want to prove. To myself, really. Maybe not so noble as yours, maybe a little more self serving, but I want to prove that I can do… Anything, honestly. Anything normal. I was never normal. I don’t know if I’m even capable of it. But I want to try.

“I just feel like I’m constantly on the razor’s edge of complete and utter failure,” Tim confessed softly. Steph laughed, lolling her head back and throwing an arm around his shoulders.

“Well, at least you’re in good company, right?” Tim snorted.

“Right,” He agreed. Steph rubbed her knuckles across the top of his head, rumpling his already messy hair.

“ _ There _ you go! Now, enough angst. Let’s get back to the movie.”

“Mhm, yeah. Don’t want to miss out on Daniel and what’s-her-face’s torrid affairs.”

“Susan. And it’s  _ David _ ! That’s it, we’re starting over.”

“No, Steph, C’mon! It’s the same name, basically,” Tim complained, but Stephanie ignored him, restarting the movie.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me the entire time i was writing this chapter: slank? slank? hm... that doesn't sound right... *googles* no, its definitely slank. slank?? hm...  
> tim and steph are the only ones who had good conversations this chapter :/

**Author's Note:**

> if you leave a comment i will slow blink at you like a cat <3


End file.
